


Like Night and Day

by existentialhomosexual, TulePubPirate



Category: Hot Guy P.I. (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Morning Kisses, Nadia and Watson get mentions, New Year's Eve, Pining, Poetry, rated T because three whole cusses means teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/existentialhomosexual/pseuds/existentialhomosexual, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulePubPirate/pseuds/TulePubPirate
Summary: On February 14, 2021, twitter's very own Cam "Gayfee" Lavagay asked "where are the schmalentines day fics people???? every day we move farther from the guiding light of schmando. make em kiss chop chop"So Julian (TulePubPirate) and Jamie (existentialhomosexual) wrote this collection of Schmando love poems.
Relationships: Nando & Nadia Sy Flores, Schmidt & Nadia Sy Flores, Schmidt/Nando Sy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. Nando's Tanaga - Night - Pining

The fireworks reflected  
on my glasses, on the street.  
Your coat, buttoned, collar popped,  
your scarf wound tight on your neck.

I wonder if you noticed  
how my breath caught in my throat.  
Our eyes met, once, and it looked  
like you did not mind my gaze.

I watched you in the moonlight.  
Your face was in silhouette  
and I couldn’t look away.  
In my defense, it was late.

I stared at you and felt  
my hand brush up against yours.  
I felt like a teen again  
as I blushed and closed my eyes.

Schmidt, you are so very - fuck,  
I wish I could word this well.  
But you gave Nadia a  
gift last year and _holy shit_.

Listen, I think I love you  
more than I knew possible,  
and when I see you I wish  
that I knew what to tell you.

And so instead I’ll sit here  
with the shadow of your hand,  
and keep myself from touching  
your angled jaw as you laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a tanaga is a form of filipino poem, written in 4 lines of 7 syllables each. i can't guarantee that this is 100% true to form because i am a fool who sucks at structure, but it sure has syllables, and phrases. those sure are quatrains. i threw the idea of a rhyme scheme in the trash because i crave free verse and rhyming scares me, and also i felt like the looseness of free verse fit with the "gay panic" vibes better. 
> 
> this was, in fact, inspired by That One New Year's Comic. - jamie


	2. Nando's Sestina - Morning - Together

Tugged awake by the drifting smell of slowly percolating coffee,  
the deep, gentle murmuring of you, Schmidt, repeating  
your morning to-do list to yourself, your soft, bare hands  
clutching an empty mug, your brows drawn in a sharp  
frown as you shuffle back into the bedroom to the closet, seeking  
a shirt, something warm, to yank over your shivering shoulders.

Sleep blinks away to quiet awe as fabric tugs across your shoulders  
as you roll messy sleeves past your elbows, wander back for coffee.  
My eyes follow after your tired, fumbling footsteps, seeking  
more, just a bit more of your ritual morning futzing, repeating  
the same steps you always do but still with such care, sharp  
lines made soft by yawns, by early golden sunbeams. My hands

scrub at my eyes arm stretch above my head and your hands  
pause stirring cream and sugar. Twist your shoulders  
to gaze back through the open bedroom door at me, sharp  
smile cocked as your hips lean against the counter, lips sip coffee  
in a long, slow drag. My heart, so battered, so lively, starts repeating  
those staccato beats, the same drum line every time that seeking

stare pierces through me like an arrow, like a heat-seeking  
missile locked onto my burning, aching chest, cheeks, hands  
instinctively gripping the sheets while you go back to the repeating  
motion of a slowly swirling spoon. All the tension in my shoulders  
unfurls. Even as you wind me up you loosen me. “Coffee?”  
you ask. I nod. You’ve already got my cup. How long have those sharp

steel eyes known I was awake and watching? Did those sharp  
senses feel me following the curve of your neck, your spine, seeking  
a few stolen visions of you from my still dreamy, still slow, pre-coffee  
waking? You walk towards me, sleepy yet somehow sauntering, hands  
bearing two steaming cups, but when I reach out, you brush past my shoulders,  
across my lap, setting both on the bedside table before softly repeating

the same words you tell me every morning, I love you, repeating  
the same sideways glance that makes me slide my palm across your sharp  
jawline and turn your still stubbled chin towards me, hands alighting on shoulders,  
slipping towards the back of my neck, your eyes, tired and bright, seeking  
words in return, Morning. Love you too. until subtle glances and shy hands  
are not enough, and I pull your lips into mine, tasting like warm coffee,

blurring away every sharp edge, every lingering worry, the two of us seeking  
solace in repeating such simple habits: a morning kiss, and broad shoulders  
still touching as you sit next to me in bed smiling between sips of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sestinas use fixed repeating end words for each line. They're poems for ruminating, for easy conversation, for staring at the man of your dreams while he looks super duper hot making coffee in the morning. 
> 
> Everyone told me to write a sonnet for this poem instead but my brain gremlins said "No! Sestina! Sestina in iambic pentameter!" I did not listen to my gremlins on the metered verse, which I think was a good idea for the sake of my sanity. - Julian


	3. Schmidt's Villanelle - Night - Pining

I know, _I know,_ what I should have done. I choked  
right at the end, at the last crucial, desperate second because  
your bubblegum hair, bright earnest eyes, broke

me. How could I just let my hands drift like that, stroke  
your perfect square jaw, let my fingers lace through the fuzz-  
I know! I know what I should have done! I choked

out a laugh, graced Watson with a kiss instead, joked  
as if that was always the plan, as if I had a plan? Who does?  
Your bubblegum hair, bright earnest eyes broke

a little, no, _a lot,_ I definitely saw before you cloaked  
them, laughed with me, you saint, you rogue, you make my head buzz-  
_I know! I know what I should have done!_ I choked

it all back instead, the words, the daydreams, the sloped  
downward spiral of my thoughts at night, how always it was  
your bubblegum hair, bright earnest eyes, broke

nose, broke heart, broken moments like this roped  
around us again and again a tangled trap never pulled taut because  
I know what I should have done. I choked  
on your bubblegum hair  
your bright earnest eyes  
broke  
me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote Strand & Boland's "The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms," a villanelle "circles round and round, refusing to go forward in any kind of linear development, and so suggesting at the deepest level, powerful recurrences of mood and emotion and memory." Not unlike two gay idiots circling around each other, neither making a ding dang move already, instead drowning in mutual pining. So when researching which form I thought suited Schmidt best (yeah...I researched for this >.> ) it immediately stuck out. 
> 
> This poem's also based on That One New Year's Comic, matching with Jamie's tanaga. - Julian


	4. Schmidt's Ode - Morning - Together

ode to the way you look when you first wake up, and the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and

i can’t help but stare at how  
you look when you wake up - blinking eyes cheeks flushed  
as you stretch in bed, shoulders taut.  
you call out to me, your voice low and rough,  
and i swear that it’s the voice of an angel,  
or something else i don’t deserve to hear.  
i’m always up - my shitty body can’t sleep past dawn  
but i love the moments when you catch me -  
sleeves unbuttoned, chin rough - like no one else does,  
and you summon me, your loyal servant,  
for a kiss.

you’ve never been the morning type  
and at the start i found that lonely, the hours alone  
while you slept. now? now i drink my coffee and i wait  
and when you wake it’s like i have something  
i’ve been waiting for, you with your cinnamon eyes  
and the way you watch when you think i’m not looking.  
have i ever told you, nando, how much i love to hear  
your voice, your laugh, on my bare skin as i dress?  
the gentle slope of your body on the sheets  
as you ask me, your hesitant lover,  
about breakfast.

i have my own rhythm at this point. i get up,  
i make my coffee, i scroll dead-eyed through twitter  
like a fool (we already know i am a fool).  
on bad days i leave before your eyes crack.  
on good days i order breakfast or i  
butter our toast and sit until the draw of your skin  
pulls me, your clumsy hands and your sleepy eyes  
and the feeling of you near me pushes away the thoughts,  
at least for a while, the constant noise a back seat  
as you tell me, your gentle paramour,  
that you love me.

i can feel your eyes on me across the length  
of the apartment, through walls - i know  
i’m irresistible and i know your gaze fills me with warmth.  
i can tell when you wake up by  
the burning of your glance. i let you catch me,  
shirt off, _mask off_ \- bare, open, shivering  
and i do it again and again and again. you,  
with your morning hair and bleary eyes,  
you see through me, through my careful construction  
and you give me, your headstrong suitor,  
your strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an ode is a lyric poem written to praise a specific subject. i didn't intend on writing an ode, honestly, but i asked my friend what the best poetic forms were for lovesick gays, and they said "sonnet or ode", and i refuse to write a sonnet. 
> 
> also, i thought of the title and then it refused to leave my head. so, i wrote it. - jamie


End file.
